Where's Casper?

Someone's son

Dante's POV*

This is the moment I realized I've raised a snake all along.

I keep thinking it's his fault, so I can sleep better, but I know the truth. But it's my fault, and now I won't lie to myself in order to spend fewer hours staring at the ceiling and thinking about Caspar. It's me, it's not him.

When I enter the room, he's eating. I was expecting him to free himself, and I asked Sophie to bring him his favorite things. She brought a tray filled up with strawberry lemonade, chocolate doughnuts, mango ice cream, fruit salad, and a bit of blueberry pie.

"Look at you. You're mature now. My boy. You've grown so beautifully on the outside..."

He turns to me, giving me a murderous glare. Right now, I don't know which piece of me I'm talking from because they're all so close to each other that you'd think I'm still whole. But I'm not. I'm broken and empty and dead inside. He pushes his plate away, but he has barely touched the food I gave to him.

"Leave me alone, Dante. You're not my father, so stop acting like it."

"Caspar, please..."

He frowns, stretching. I just bought him some of my old clothes, the one that would fit him, but he doesn't even look at them. I smile, trying not to make my pain so obvious.

"You know, it's not your fault. I'm the one who raised you wrong. You and your brother. In exchange, you both turned against me. But I never hated you, and never will. You're my children. Whatever you do, whatever you say, I will never hate you. I'll just hate myself instead."

Caspar grabs a doughnut from the tray and pretends he doesn't hear me. He takes a bite out of it, standing up and laying on his bed, facing the wall. I can't do this anymore.

"I hate you, Caspar. I tried to be nice, but I can't. You're just a spoiled brat and nothing more."

_____________

*Caspar's POV*

He didn't mean it, right? He can't say that. He'd never do that to me. He'd never hate me.

I take the clothes Dante left on my bed, still shivering. I may be a monster, but monsters need warmth, too. I remember the shirt. It was the one he wore when I first met him. The shirt I held on to when I came running after him, telling him I don't want to see my mom again. I was just nine.

He just smiled, grabbed my hand, and we ran away from them, giving up on the last three nights of circus. Since then, the circus has only had one night of representations, overpriced tickets, and many numbers gathered in a short time.

I think I should have behaved myself. Honestly, I would've done the same thing he did if the child I raised would act like he would look down at me. I actually don't. I have never looked upper at someone in my entire life.

The way he smiles. The way he talks. The way he acts. The way he responds to my mocking. He's perfect, and I want to ruin him more than anything.